


Tea Service

by ljs



Category: I Spy (1965)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-17
Updated: 2010-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-12 17:56:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljs/pseuds/ljs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For my friend Heron Pose's birthday: Kelly and Scotty share bruises and tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea Service

In the dream he was falling again. Nothing but air underneath him, nothing but water below the air, but if he could just get his arm up, he'd be safe.

Thrashing, Kelly grasped the blanket with one hand. The pain of the contact jolted him awake. But it was dim, he didn't know where he was, nothing but air nothing but water --

“Hang on, Stanley, you're gonna rip that,” Scotty said, and eased the scratchy fabric out of Kelly's hold. “Now just settle down, okay?”

“Okay.” Kelly stilled himself, made himself breathe, made himself remember.

Yeah. Okay. San Francisco, and a Russian mole, and the bridge where it all had gone -- “Down,” he said. “Romanski went over?”

“Yeah. Made a hell of a splash when she hit.” Scotty smiled, one of his careful ones that didn't reach his eyes all the way. He kept going, however, just like always. “You would have too if I hadn't valiantly rescued your sorry self.”

This was Kelly's cue to quip right back, but the aches were making themselves felt, and he just didn't want to play the game right now. Shoulder felt all but pulled apart, bruises on top of bruises, and now the memory of Natalia Romanski's eyes as she pulled him over the railing, the punch in the gut -- “I hope I said thank you,” he managed, and closed his eyes.

“Close enough for government work,” Scotty said.

Knock on the door: gentle, though. This was a pretty snazzy hotel the government had sprung for, and the staff knew their stuff. “Did you order me a nurse?” Kelly said, a wisp of hope in his voice. “Pretty one? Big--”

“Naah,” Scotty said, from further away, from the door. “You were snoring like Sleeping Beauty, brother, so I ordered myself some tea.”

Tea. Kelly thought about that, there in the eyes-shut coolness of the bed. They'd made Romanski at that conference when she diluted her tea like a Russian would, and when he said 'they,' he meant Scotty, who cared about stuff like that. “You get yourself a samovar or somethin'? In honor of the case?”

“Not me, Mervyn. You know how I like my tea.” Then there was a murmuring from the door, a rustle of a bill, the gentle click of a door closing. Then, close up, Scotty, in his best English-duke accent: “Learned it at school, didn't I?”

Still hiding in the sweet eyes-shut world, Kelly grinned. In a much worse attempt at an accent, “Tip-top, what-ho, crumpets on the High, what?”

“Man, that is terrible. Just, you should be embarrassed for yourself.” A clink of china against tray, and a waft of steam--

Nothing but air beneath him, nothing but water.

Kelly opened his eyes. There was Scotty, hovering over the little table he'd put beside Kelly's bed, beside the armchair he'd dragged over, breathing in tea. “You gonna let me have some?”

“Yeah. It's time for your painkiller anyway,” Scotty said briskly. “Might as well wash it down with the finest Earl Grey.”

“Aw, man, you know that's not what I like.”

“Well, I know you're partial to my Aunt Mabel's sweet tea, which I'm gonna say right now is an offense to the fine leaf from which it's made. But since Aunt Mabel's back in Philly, you'll have to make do.”

Kelly shifted away from the pain, toward the better memory – sitting in Scotty's mom's living room, eating too much and drinking a sweet syrupy iced tea that tasted of a home he'd never had. And Master Alexander had sat there with a wry twist to his mouth drinking it down, 'cause he _was_ home but he'd been away too long, learning too many things for comfort.

“Three sugars and a painkiller, then, please,” Kelly said, as Scotty poured. Then, “Did you get the microfilm?”

“I didn't personally. Too busy with your wounded self. But Pete Donaldson did, and the higher-ups are very pleased, what with the safety of the free world and all.” Scotty finished with the three heaping spoonfuls of sugar and then presented Kelly with steaming cup and saucer (and a big damn horse-pill on the side).

When Kelly moved, the pain hit like... well, like a hell of a lot of pain. He regrouped, and reached out with his other hand, grabbed hold--

And saw the marks on Scotty's wrist. “Oh, shit. Did I do that?”

“Technically the Golden Gate did.” Scotty pulled back, pulled all the way back. “And I'm sorry if I wasn't all that gentle my own self.”

But it was coming back now, the rush of wind and the cold of it, cold of it, falling breathless and then the grasp on his wrist, the pendulum-swing of his weight against the bridge and the pain from his shoulder, but there was a hand like a manacle around his wrist. He'd gotten his arm up in time, and Scotty had been there like always.

“Thanks, man.” It was never enough, but it was all he had.

“Thanks for not being gentle?” Scotty's grin was fast and real. “You're sick in the head, Kel.”

“Some might say,” Kelly said with a return smile. “Some might say.”

Kelly washed down the painkiller with that too-hot Earl Grey, and he watched the light fall while Scotty drank his own tea as easy as if he was at home, and he was caught, he was safe, even if below him was nothing but air and water.


End file.
